


Overture to Q

by liquidengineers



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Angst, Beautiful, Character Death, Comfort, Confessions, Crushes, Emotional, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Goodbyes, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, I'm actually super proud of this one lmao, Last Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Oneshot, Provocative, Q is not having a great time, Sad, Sad Ending, Starship Enterprise (Star Trek), Sweet, Tenderness, picard is a great man, q does not deserve picard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidengineers/pseuds/liquidengineers
Summary: “Dying?” Picard’s eyes widen as Q’s form wavers and drips beneath his touch. He wrestles the creeping dissipation under control and presses a finger against Picard’s chest, trying to soak up the sensation of solid form against solid form. He doesn’t know when he’ll next get the chance to touch his captain, if he ever gets the chance again.“Well,” he shrugs, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, to preserve the image of a fickle and unbothered entity within Picard’s mind, “it’s not so much dying as assimilating. Melting back into the universe. Unable to manifest physically — unable to think, really. I thought it would be courteous to stop by and lay down my goodbyes.”--Q's grip on reality begins to slip has he starts to ebb back into the void where he came from. He visits Picard one last time, for a final confession.(Very few, if any, references to specific events -- this is timeless and does not require you to have watched a lot of TNG to understand :))
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard & William Riker, Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Comments: 20
Kudos: 80





	Overture to Q

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned on another TNG work, 'Sharpen the Sickle', that I was going to write a piece with literary fiction vibes. While this is not literary fiction, I'm super proud with how it turned out :) I've tried to keep them as in-character as I can, but the vibe I was aiming for means that a good deal of it is a little ooc... hopefully it doesn't ruin the work, aha.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> (I only watched the Voyager s2ep18 with Q and the other Q (Q2 IS A LITERAL ICON HE'S SO SOFT AND SWEET AHHH) after writing this, and I sorta wish I had watched it beforehand so I could include some of the stuff about the continuum that the episode explores, but hey here we are)

Q cannot remember non-existence. 

He can’t remember the time before subsistence; what it was like before he bled into reality, before his radiance blossomed across the cosmos like ink through water. His beginning wasn’t so much a birth as an awakening; an ache of consciousness that rippled through him and exploded in bursts of stardust at the very edges of his being. Tumbling through the flowering dark, a fragile bloom caught in the throes of a harsh wind. 

In all the years that he has persisted, teetering on the edge of that barrier between materiality and imagination, in all the billions of years that his mind has flourished and expanded to encompass the vast and vapid world he’d oozed into… he’s never once considered what it must have been like to be one with the void, or what it would be like to assimilate with it eventually. He can’t remember non-existence, which is reasonable, but that means he can’t attach any sort of expectation to what happens after he’s exhausted his own capacity for life.

Q goes to Picard as soon as he realises what’s happening. It’s not a conscious decision; he’s just as surprised as Picard is when he pops into the captain’s quarters. He has no mind for jest, currently. He’s finding it hard to comprehend his situation, but tries to gather what little parts of himself have begun to slough off and paints a cheeky smile onto his features. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to retain physical form. Sooner or later, he’ll fade into the cosmos. Sooner or later, he’ll lose independent consciousness. He’ll be one with the void once more. 

A child born from the sorrow of worlds yet to exist.

“Q…” Picard massages his forehead. “What do you want?”

He has to physically concentrate to get comprehensible words out. “You seem happy to see me.”

Picard doesn’t seem to notice his struggle. “If you have nothing constructive to say, please remove yourself from my ship.”

Q doesn’t remember what was before his beginning, but he remembers what came after. He remembers the thick nothingness that began as a numb twitch in his mind, yet eventually grew and threatened to swallow him. The hardest thing with omnipotence is the realisation that you have nothing to live for — that the universe is a raging pit of nullity in which you are alone. He always hated his need for approval from the human race. He always hated the fact that Picard made him feel like he wasn’t truly alone. Something in his chest gives and he feels himself unwillingly crush a nearby uninhabited planet into dust and debris. He’s losing a grip on his powers already.

“What if I just want to spend time with you,  _ mon capitaine _ ?” Q’s voice betrays his fear. He doesn’t want to move a muscle — already he feels tremulous and unstable, wracked with tiny convulsions that shake his core. Now Picard does notice. He frowns at him and takes a step closer, but Q is too proud to allow this human to break his resolve. He stuffs what bits of himself have managed to escape back inside. Picard’s expression is soaked in displeasure. It almost makes him wince.

“What is the meaning of this, Q?” 

Q tries to take a few steps toward the bed. Part of him unravels — he feels himself start to melt away, and stops in his tracks, hands shaking. Now Picard is next to him, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you alright?”

“No,” Q admits, and he feels close to tears. It alarms him. “I think you'll be happy to learn that I am dying, my dear Picard.”

“Dying?” Picard’s eyes widen as Q’s form wavers and drips beneath his touch. He wrestles the creeping dissipation under control and presses a finger against Picard’s chest, trying to soak up the sensation of solid form against solid form. He doesn’t know when he’ll next get the chance to touch his captain, if he ever gets the chance again.

“Well,” he shrugs, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, to preserve the image of a fickle and unbothered entity within Picard’s mind, “it’s not so much  _ dying _ as assimilating. Melting back into the universe. Unable to manifest physically — unable to think, really. I thought it would be courteous to stop by and lay down my goodbyes.”

Picard chuckles and lowers his hand from Q’s shoulder. “If you expect me to believe you—”

“Of course I don’t expect you to believe me,” Q snaps, irritated. “I don’t expect anyone of your magnitude to be capable of comprehending the death of a god.” 

His anger allows for the disbanding of his existence to flux; moons explode and stars wink out as he gasps and melts a little more, pressing his hands against Picard’s chest emphatically, trying to find a physical anchor to collect himself on. He drips over Picard, for a suspended moment, a soup of stars and celestial light. It’s drawn back and absorbed — with difficulty, he retains his physical form. He’s already exhausted, and his fear is mounting. Fear isn’t welcome within him; fear won’t make him blind. He’s got a long way before his resolve is crumbled. Q relishes the glorious feeling of Picard’s body against his hands. He never thought he’d miss this. He shouldn’t miss this.

Picard is holding Q’s shoulders, holding him up. He’s still solid, thank god, but he can feel himself ebb and gyrate with the flow of the universe. He won’t be solid for long. How long will it take his mind to be absorbed into the current once his body dissolves? He doesn’t know if his legs will hold him up for much longer, so he sits on Picard’s bed and rests his forehead against the man’s midriff. He’s so tired. Picard flinches, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re dying,” he says eventually. 

“I thought I made that clear,” Q spits back. A bustling city on a nearby planet is obliterated as his powers flicker out with no warning. He groans and presses his face further into Picard’s stomach, letting the captain’s warmth and solidity cradle him against its chest. Picard takes a step back, breaking the connection. 

“Is there any way you can stop it?” he asks, “are you ill? Injured?”

Q lets himself sink back into Picard’s bed, trying to scoop his scattering essence back into one. His head lounges back against the headboard, bits of him dripping across the sheets like cosmic dust. They swirl across the bed and are sucked back into his wavering form. “Let me tell you a story,  _ mon capitaine _ , one that transcends mortal imagination; a story which is woven into the fabric of the universe.”

“There’s no need for theatrics, Q,” Picard growls, “just tell me what I can do to—”

“No, it’s not just woven into the universe’s fabric,” Q interrupts, his form melting into the cosmos and reforming in an instant. He can feel the panic welling in his chest, but it remains unreleased; all he knows is a dangerous tranquility. “It’s the very strings which have been twirled and teased into each strand of yarn that makes up this knitted reality.”

“There is distinct triviality in the nature of human behaviour, a pressing insignificance at every action and every intention that crosses the mind.” Q is momentarily rendered speechless as his face splits down the middle and curls away, then blossoms back into itself. Cosmic debris litters his abyssal eyes — he sets his gaze on Picard, the incessant pull of the void tugging at his chest. “Within us there exists two extremes. Hated, the primal bane of civilisation, the rot that eats away all it touches; and Humanity, the innocent and corruptible core of mankind…”

Comets explode around them in a stunning display. Q tries to strengthen his resolve, tries to gather up the pieces of himself that keep bleeding away into the cosmos. His form melts and solidifies on the bed, his hand leaving a trail of stars like a slipstream as he reaches toward Picard. 

“Stop speaking,” Picard huffs. “Is the continuum behind this?”

Q feels like sobbing, because all he wants is for Picard to listen to him. He doesn’t want to be saved — he never wanted to be saved, least of all by this annoying French starship captain, this  _ human _ who has shown him more about the nature of the universe than he ever cared to uncover. His desperation sweeps across a nearby galaxy and wipes countless lives out of existence in an instant. He’s powerless to stop it — a thought which surges through him with a grim humour. This is what it’s all come to; a broken physicality, unable to quell his own destructive power. 

“Listen,” he gasps when he has a mouth and lips again, and the request ripples through his being like an ache of anguish. “Hated and Humanity, at a constant battle to win control of, of body and mind.” 

He chokes on stardust. Picard’s hands are trying to cradle him, trying to grasp his cheeks and somehow stop his face from phasing in and out of reality. Q strains to retain his form. Several planets orbiting a far-off solar system are crushed and flung into their sun as he revels in the captain’s touch until he melts into the sheets once more. Forests shrivel into deserts; deserts spring alive with verdant growth. Q tries to gather his scattering conscience back into himself, but it’s getting harder and harder to stop his very essence from slipping through the gaps in his psyche. 

“Hatred has always seen Humanity as equitable. As a vessel in which it is propagated and cultured. Hatred wants to take Humanity’s hand and grow deep inside of them; light a flame and claim that it won’t hurt. It exists to make the world so vapid and disappointing, to birth all things miserable and to spark every war. It’s an aggressive and jeering character, resorting to blatant manipulation and scorn to hammer in its own opinion — it craves the superiority it feels from controlling the opinions of its faceless listeners.” 

Whole planets form from nothingness and drip down his chin, exploding into dust before they hit the sheets. Picard tries again to grasp Q’s shoulders, to feel him as a solid form beneath his fingers. His face is drawn, eyes hard. 

“ _ Stop speaking _ ,” he growls again. “If this is a prank, it’s not funny.”

“This is no prank,  _ mon chéri _ . Listen to the story.” He brushes a disintegrating finger along Picard’s jaw and continues. “In contrast to Hatred, Humanity is soft-spoken and naive. They perceive themselves as innocent and righteous. Humanity is representative of the aspect of us which lets us believe that we can do little to no wrong. When directly confronted with Hatred’s nature they become defensive in an effort to preserve our image. Humanity is deeply offended by the notion that they have anything to do with Hatred at all. Despite this, Humanity is a selfish and misinformed being who’ll do anything to be liked, even if they do this in a passive and pathetic way.”

“You’re infuriating,” Picard murmurs hotly. Q ignores him and goes on. He doesn’t entirely know where the story is leading him. He doesn’t entirely know what message he’s trying to convey. He speaks on, anyway, even as his throat fractures open and gushes stardust and constellations over his chest. 

“Hated pulls the strings when we’re together, but even from the start there’s been confrontation between Hatred and Humanity. While Hated moves his mouth to spit insults, Humanity creeps in and tries to justify their own hate, to preserve their image as a radiant being. It doesn’t matter if… if what I’m saying is morally right or wrong.” Q coughs and gasps as his chest tries to rip itself apart. The dribble of matter that has been trickling out of his grasp has turned into a stream. “When I’m with you, I’m  _ never _ right, and that frightens me.”

“Q,” Picard whispers, “what are you trying to tell me?”

“ _ Ex multis ad unum _ , my dear captain, from many to one. Maybe someday I will be able to find that self-preserving sword that Humanity might wield within me, but for now I’ll only indulge in Hatred again and again, until it hurts me beyond repair. I’ll never be able to shake free that blanket of hate that keeps me warm and superior, but… but I think I’ve found my Humanity. I think I’ve found it in you.”

Panic now bubbling from his lips, Q laughs uncontrollably and strains to hold himself together. “I think I’m in love with you,  _ mon capitaine _ , and that scares me beyond belief. I’m a god — I can’t fall in love with something as insignificant as you. I hate you. No, I despise you.”

“You’re dying,” Picard repeats. “It’s addled your brain.”

“Wrong, Picard. I’ve known this for a long, long time. I’ve never cared to entertain the thought, or even acknowledge it for a second, but I’ve known. I wouldn’t expect you to understand how distressing it is to…” Q gasps and gurgles as his core shudders. He wills himself to still. He’s running out of time. “How distressing it is to owe everything to something so puny. God, I’m  _ scared _ , Jean-Luc.”

Picard stills at this, and Q is shocked to see tears dripping down his cheeks. The door chimes — that insufferable Riker and his big Klingon buddy enter, stopping short when they see his pathetic decaying form splayed across the bed. Even in his crumbling state, Q can taste their shock. Picard flings up a hand as Worf rushes forward. His eyes never leave Q’s.

“Captain, are you alright?” Riker asks, concern edging his voice. 

Q laughs at this, wincing as another city crumbles somewhere in the distance. “So thoughtful, commander. Here’s me, helpless to the whims of the universe, sputtering out on this infernal bed, and you’re asking if  _ he’s _ alright?”

Picard shoots Worf a stern look, watery eyes and all, as the Klingon tries to push past him again. He steps back. Q doesn’t expect anything less. What use is a warrior that knuckles under to an old, stubborn human? He gasps as constellations fire like neurons through his head. Picard finds his hand and squeezes it, fingers slipping through smoke-like flesh. Q focuses all his attention on retaining his fingers, on giving Picard a solid hand to hold on to. 

“How do you do it?” Q asks as his body begins to melt again. “How do you stand being so insignificant in such a vast and pallid universe?”

“Living purely as a way to continue living is not living at all — it is merely  _ existing  _ at a corporal, or physical level. There is a blithe disregard amongst my species for the fantastic miracle that is the sentient human mind. We live every day just to repeat the same old, meaningless actions the next, never even thinking about what we have the potential to do as human beings.” Picard tries to curl his fingers through Q’s, but they end up sluicing through stardust, scattering it across the bed. Q takes a rattling breath and calls his body into solidity once more. It won’t last. 

“What if you could live  _ forever _ ? Would the possibility of an eternity filled with the same mundane daily tasks, day after day, again and again and again, motivate you to start exploring your own caged potential as a human?” He’d offered this to them before; he knew they’d never accept. No, it wasn’t so much a proposition as a thought to ruminate on. 

“Is he hurt?” Riker asks, stealing precious time. Picard doesn’t draw his eyes away from Q.

“Not hurt — dying.”

Q could have sworn that the captain’s voice broke a little on the last word. He has no time to argue with Riker. The man is insignificant in all of this. If he had the capacity, he would spirit that insufferable insect far away from Picard, he would snap the whole crew to some distant planet and have the ship all to himself — have Picard all to himself. His skin cracks and peels from his face, then flashes back into existence with a tingle.

“I never thought the universe could be vivified,” he ponders. “I never thought there would be any meaning to it all, before I met you. How did you manage that?”

Picard doesn’t answer his question. “You’ve been too cruel, Q,” he says instead.

“On the contrary, Picard — I haven’t been cruel enough.” Supernovas fizzle into ashes within the cavity of his chest. He’s slipping. “Judgement doesn’t suit you,  _ mon chéri _ . Have you ever realised how beautiful you look when you’re angry?”

Worf splutters at this. Riker puts a hand on his shoulder and draws him away.

“Now isn’t the prime time for flirting,” Picard sighs. He has all the glory of their first meeting at Farpoint — vexed and fed up, anxious and angry. It’s different this time, softer almost; now it’s built upon a pressing sadness that glimmers in the tears staining his cheeks. 

“Well, when else, captain? You only die once, after all.”

Picard lifts a hand and cards it through what would usually be Q’s hair. It twinkles with the light of a thousand galaxies, turning to smoke as his fingers move through it. “Does it hurt?”

“Not physically,” Q replies. “To be frank, it feels rather wonderful. I’m more concerned about what I’m leaving behind.”

“That’s unusual.” Picard makes a face. “And you thought a love confession was appropriate?”

Now Q surges upwards, comets and cosmic wonders dripping from him in trickles. He catches Picard’s face in malleable hands. “Have you ever wondered why I keep coming back to you, Jean-Luc? You’re not my pet. You’re not my plaything. I keep coming back because you’re the single most wondrous thing in this universe.”

“It never seemed like that,” Riker speaks up from behind them. Q feels irritation spike deep within him again — civilisations plunge into boiling seas across the universe. 

“ _ Chacun voit midi à sa porte _ , commander, many times I was otherwise occupied. I’ve never wanted to impress someone more than I’ve wanted to impress you, Picard. I’m disappointed that I haven’t acknowledged that until now.”

Picard looks thoughtful. He sighs and rubs a hand across his face, catching Q’s dripping gaze. It mollifies him, somehow. 

“I wish we had more time to talk about this,” he says softly. Q feels his breath hitch in what was once his throat.

“So, you…?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Picard frowned sullenly, “that’s not an answer I’m able to give in such a short time span. You’ve taken me quite by surprise, Q.”

Q laughs at this, then chokes and convulses as stardust spills from his lips, bursting as it makes contact with Picard’s chest. He coughs and laughs and wraps a wavering arm around Picard, holding him as close as he can; this silly little human who’s somehow smarter than the entire Q continuum (as much as it pains him to admit). 

“I do have a flair for that,” he says, and feels the inexorable flow of his conscience back into the cosmos begin. “At least I’m kind enough to have said goodbye.”

“Hardly,” Picard whispers, tears beginning to spill over the threshold and tumble down his cheeks once more. “Do you realise what you’ve left me with, Q? How am I meant to live with this knowledge? How am I meant to look into the stars and not feel… and not feel  _ guilt _ and  _ remorse _ ? The last thing you’ll ever tell me, and somehow you’ve managed to throw me into turmoil all over again.  _ Merde _ !”

“Language, captain,” Q hums, grappling with the fabric of the universe to slow down the rate of disintegration. “But please, keep shouting — you’re attractive when you’re mad.”

Exhaustion washes over him, and his head dips. Picard looks alarmed. Riker and Worf stand warily near the door, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. There may have been a time when Q would go out fighting, when he’d lash out what little power he still had control over and force stars to collide, force worlds to burn and skies to go black. All he can manage now, all he cares about, is raising his crumbling head and pressing the first and last kiss he’ll ever give to Picard’s lips. He’s never really cared for physical attraction, but he understands the weight that it has within human society. It’s chaste yet sings of desire, it’s unreciprocated yet cherished, it washes over the unlikely duo as Q’s chest opens up for the last time and spills stardust over them both. 

His energy is sapped; with a final groan of annoyance, he loses his grip on his corporeal form. He hangs around the room as long as he can, long enough to hear Picard mutter “ _ Au revoir, mon ciel étoilé. _ ” at the empty space he left behind. Long enough to see Riker rush forward and catch Picard’s forearms, studying his face worriedly before bundling him into a firm embrace. Long enough to admit to himself, sulkily, that maybe the human race isn’t so bad after all.

Q cannot remember non-existence, but he feels a little better about sinking into it now. Perhaps he’ll be back, sometime, if the universe permits it; sewed out of the threads that are rapidly dissipating in the current of space and time, a new being, a new life to look forward to. Maybe he’ll find Picard again. The thought comforts him as he fades out of the room. His eyes remain locked on his  _ capitaine _ , right until the moment where his vision slips and dims. 

He drifts out.

❍

_ Do you remember your beginning? _

_ How it was when you were floating in the darkness?  _

_ You were so beautiful, tumbling through the blossoming dark, a fragile bloom caught in the throes of the harsh wind. Your tiny hands were fisted, skin pale, lips pink and perfect. You were so small and yet your presence sang against the raging nothingness and your bright eyes strained to see.  _

_ A child born from the sorrow of a world yet to exist. You were so alone as you hung suspended in the void. A picture of serene peace, long before you gained purpose. You were ever so lonely in that soup of null space you were coated in. Do you remember? _

_ But you weren’t truly alone, were you? I was there, in the darkness. I was with you, I reached out — and you curled your tiny fingers around my own. I held you against my chest as your lungs inflated with the first breath of a universe. Your wretched cries were so liberating, my darling.  _

_ With you in my arms, we watched the birth of all the stars. We watched as that first breath became the same breath in the lungs of the living. You grew beside me as we watched, until I could cradle you no longer, and then you knelt and you pledged yourself to me.  _

_ Your oath bonds us closer than we ever were when you lay crying in my arms.  _

_ We walk hand in hand in this new universe and hand in hand we shall walk away from it.  _

_ You were so, so beautiful in the dark.  _

  
  


❍

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written to Gary Numan and Godspeed You! Black Emperor aha. I hope it brought a little light into your day! Thanks for reading :) 
> 
> I don't speak French (unfortunately -- it's a very beautiful language), but this is what the phrases should mean (please correct me if I'm wrong!):  
> Chacun voit midi à sa porte -- 'Everyone sees noon at his doorstep'. A phrase highlighting the propensity for individuals to put their own interests before others, and see their opinions as objective truths. Q is trying to justify the fact that he's done some shitty stuff (and not doing a great job, aha)  
> Au revoir, mon ciel étoilé. -- 'Goodbye, my starry sky'. Because Picard is soft and wondrous, and Q is leaking stardust.
> 
> Important Note: before you say 'oh but Q can't die!' -- Voyager has several instances of Qs either dying or alluding to death. I haven't watched every TNG or VOY Q episode, but VOY s2ep18 is all about a Q trying to die, and in s3ep11 our Q says 'my cosmic clock is ticking' or smth similar at one point which implies they can die. I know in TNG s6ep15 Q literally says he is what comes after death/he is 'God', but tbh I regard that as just Q fucking with Picard lmao. Regardless of whether it fits canon or not, this is my take on (natural) Q death. Honestly I strongly dislike using Voyager Q as an example -- especially s3ep11 -- because it reduces his character to a one-dimensional pervert with very big creep vibes for a lot of it (and I know I know there's reason for his actions but it still rubs me the wrong way), but yeah I felt like needing to justify myself aha.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading!


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